Chain Reactions
by DarkObsessions
Summary: SPOILERS! The story takes place after the end of season 2. In the aftermath of the events of Mount Weather, Clarke's sudden departure has left Bellamy struggling to cope.


Chapter 1

He understood why she left; she was drowning, thrashing around in a sea of guilt. Every inch of her soul was screaming under the weight. He could relate. It was an anguish so profound that he felt it tighten in his own chest when she looked at him. He knew she believed there was little hope for redemption, that her sins outweighed any good she had managed to achieve down here on earth. He knew she believed that. He'd seen it in her face, heard it in her voice as she'd held him close and whispered her goodbyes.

But he was still angry. He still couldn't stop the rage from bubbling around inside him, even though he could practically taste her pain, her absolute anguish and self loathing. What she'd done to him still left him feeling raw, exposed. She had abandoned him.

Clarke had deserted him right when he'd needed her help picking up the pieces. She'd left him to cope with the aftermath of everything they had done. With the crushing responsibility of leadership and the agonizing knowledge of what they had chosen to sacrifice in order to save their people. They had done it together; it had not been her actions alone that had seared the flesh of hundreds. They had pulled that lever together and watched those people burn. Women and children, the young and the old; in the end everyone one of them had become expendable. Saving their own, saving Octavia, had mattered more than the lives of strangers. It hurt, still woke him in the middle of the night with sweat cold on his skin. But if he could make the choice again, he would not change it. They had done what they had to. They had saved the people they had grown to love, the people who depended on them for protection and leadership.

He believed Clarke knew that, could not fathom how she could possibly think otherwise. She had to know that they had done what was required of them. And yet she had taken the burden of it upon herself. She'd as much as told him so when she quoted that ridiculous line Dante Wallace had spurted "I bear it, so they don't have to...". She behaved as though the decision to irradiate level five had been hers and hers alone. As though she were the only one being choked under the weight of it. Of course she wasn't. He had made that decision right along with her. They had done it together, just as they had done with every other decision involving their people. They were a team, a coefficient leadership, and they had been ever since Charlotte.

The death of that little girl had struck him, slapped him off balance and sent him into a blinding sea of red. He'd wanted Murphy dead, he would have killed him, he almost did. But Clarke had been the voice of reason. She'd talked him down, forced him to recognize there was a difference between blind vengeance and calculated justice, between self defense and murder. When his hands were soaked in blood, when he hated himself, she had offered him comfort and forgiveness. She'd freely offered forgiveness for sins that should have been unforgivable, and she told him she needed him. That she wasn't capable of leading their people alone, that they could bear that responsibility together. And when he had tried to offer her the same comfort, the same forgiveness for sins just as unforgivable, she had walked away. Turned from him with tears in her eyes and a feeble goodbye on her lips. Had it not occurred to her that he needed her as well? That he didn't feel he could bear the weight of it all on his own?

If it had, it hadn't mattered enough to make her stay, and that stung. He would have done anything for her; he cared more for her than he liked to admit. She had forced him to be a better man, a better person. In the beginning he'd have done anything just to ensure he and Octavia survived, the consequences be damned. He hadn't allowed himself to give a shit about anyone but his sister. Octavia had been his whole world for as long as he could remember and neither his happiness nor hers was more important than her survival. So he'd gone through life doing what needed to be done with little regard for his own feelings or anyone else's. Clarke had changed that. She'd chipped away at him until he found himself caring not only for her but for the rest of their people as well. He loved them all, and it was killing him.

Now every life mattered, every death took something from him. Now he couldn't seem to turn it off, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to. Either way, it was exhausting. He couldn't even pinpoint when it had happened, but he knew it was her fault. Clarke Griffin had turned him into some kind of reluctant do-gooder, a begrudging hero of the people. It was never what he'd wanted. He didn't want this kind of responsibility. It was certainly a far cry from "whatever the hell we want". When he'd first noticed what she'd done to him he had thought he could be alright with it. Clarke had made the transition fairly easy for him. She had always been there when he needed a quick pep talk or a good slap. But now she was gone, and he didn't know what the hell to do with himself.

He had gotten so used to her sensible counsel. They had used each other as sounding boards, argued almost as much as they agreed, and pushed each other's limits on a regular basis. But somehow it worked. They evened each other out, made it possible to lead a bunch of teenage delinquents straight through hell and back out again. They had become a force to be reckoned with and he was proud of them.

But they had done all of that as a team and now it was just him. He was a simple man; he'd never considered himself to be anything extraordinary. All he had ever really aspired towards was keeping his sister alive. Somewhere along the way things had gotten complicated and now he had nearly fifty other people looking to him for answers, for their salvation. He didn't think he could do it. He felt he'd barely managed even when Clarke had been there to catch whatever he'd let slip through the cracks.

He was terrified. He would lead because he had to; because his people needed someone to look out for them and he knew damn well it wouldn't be the council. And because Clarke had been selfish, she'd expected him to push forward and deal with something she couldn't even face herself. She'd entrusted him with the lives of their people and even though he was furious with her for it, there was a part of him that needed to do this for her. Perhaps it was an attempt to ease some of her pain. Not that it mattered, he wasn't even sure if she was ever coming back. He hoped she did, but he couldn't be sure. The whole thing was ridiculous, it didn't make any sense. One part of him hated her for what she'd done to him. He wanted to scream at her for her selfishness, tell her that what she was doing was stupid and that he couldn't do any of it without her. She'd bullied him into caring, into being someone other than who he'd convinced himself he was. Then she just walked away. How could he not be angry after that? But another quieter part of him would have done almost anything to take that tormented look out of her eyes. His chest had tightened at her pain even as he'd wanted to shake her silly. But he was still angry.

Stupid. The whole thing was stupid, but that didn't make it any less real.

So he'd make a good show of looking unafraid, like the unwavering hard ass; the guy who was always willing to make the hard calls. He was good at pretending. He'd spent most of his life pretending he was an only child, that there wasn't a scared little girl hidden under the floorboards of his quarters. And for sixteen years no one was any wiser. He could keep doing this because he had to, just as he had had to back then. It didn't matter that he was afraid, just so long as no one else knew it. The problem was that now he was worried he'd spent too much time looking to Clarke for validation. It had gotten to a point where he respected her decisions, believed in her, backed her even when he didn't always agree. He believed she had done the same for him. She had been the other half of their co leadership, the queen to his king, and he was almost certain that the loss of her would be their downfall.

And for Bellamy Blake, that fear translated into aggression. Anger was always better than fear, people tended not to fuck with you if could scare them just enough.

So yes, he understood why she left and that guilt and sorrow had ruled her actions. Her pain had even moved him, caused him to grant her the solitude she'd demanded without much of a fight. But he didn't forgive her. He wasn't sure he could. Because he shared with her the very same guilt that had driven her to run. He was just as culpable as Clarke, and yet she had forced him into a corner. By leaving she had taken away his choices, left him alone to cope not only with what they'd done but with the responsibility of ruling solo, without her council or her backing.

He would do it because she had given him no other option, but he couldn't help but feel resentful. Even as his heart bled for her, he resented her.


End file.
